The Hit List

by Nikki Urang

“I was just passing through on my way to the boys’ studio. I should go.” He waves and heads toward the door.

  “Later,” Brielle says.

  “Try to behave,” he yells over his shoulder.

  “Yes, sir.” She salutes him.

  I put all my energy into tying the ribbons on my pointe shoes, tucking in the bow on the inside of my ankle. If I focus on every single movement as I make it, I don’t have to think about how my life is falling apart. And I don’t have to worry about how I’ll make it through the semester with a partner when one bad lift could end my career. My fragile hip won’t come back from another injury.

  I know my limits, but I don’t expect anyone else to learn them, or trust anyone not to push them.

  A woman I recognize from last week walks into the room and conversation quiets around me. Her platinum blond hair is styled in a pixie cut. Her black leotard and sweater stand out against her pale white skin. She doesn’t look like she’s stepped outside in the L. A. sun in the past year.

  She walks to the front of the room and turns to watch us get ready for class. The remaining girls trickle into the studio. Only one space is open on the twelve-person barre. Girls around me warm up their feet and stretch in their shoes. I lift my leg onto the higher level on the barre and lean against my leg. Rachel whispers to the girl next to her, Courtney, and they both glare at Brielle and then at me.

  I ignore them. Brielle flips them off.

  After about five minutes of watching us stretch, the teacher steps forward. “Ladies, welcome to your advanced ballet technique class. My name is Miss Laney. You will be required to wear pointe shoes for every practice. Even though we are a contemporary school, you need to maintain proper technique. Understood?”

  The girls around me nod.

  “Good. Let’s begin. Spread out on the barre and make sure you have enough space. We’re going to start with two demi pliés and a grand plié in first, second, and fifth positions, relevé in fifth position, hold for a count of eight and turn to the other side.”

  Soft piano notes drift from the speakers as the music starts. I push down on the tips of my toes one at a time. I haven’t worn my pointe shoes as frequently here as I did in New York, but that’s enough to make the skin on my feet less resistant to the unforgiving stiff blocks. I rest my hand lightly on the barre, careful not to wrap my thumb around it. Standing with my feet together, I open them at the toes, my heels glued together. My hips turn out and my feet stop just before they reach 180 degrees.

  Everything stops. All the stressful thoughts, the worry about having to dance with a partner again, the bullshit with Luke and The Hit List, it’s all gone. As soon as my hand connects with the smooth wood of the barre, I’m in my own world.

  The entire class starts the exercise on cue without a word from Miss Laney. For so long, these barre exercises have been engrained in me, I could do them in my sleep.

  And it’s been my escape for as long as I can remember. When I can’t stand the thoughts in my head anymore, I dance. Focusing on the movement, being told exactly what emotions I should be feeling, either by the music or by my teacher, feeling the physical pain and pleasure of exertion instead of the mental pain I’ve never gotten used to.

  The one thing I can always count on when I dance is knowing exactly what I should be feeling during a performance. Barre and floor exercises keep my emotions in check as I focus more on the positions than the music. Choreography is a completely different story. I could be having the worst day ever, but dancing something happy makes me forget all about it.

  Dancing allows me to feel something other than what’s inside my head. That’s my goal most of the time. When I’m doing floor work and barre exercises, I’m comfortably numb, content with focusing on muscle memory and the way it should feel if I’m doing it right. Every time I go into practice, I put in two hundred percent because if I’m not getting any better, then what’s the point?

  I finish on the right and rise up onto my toes in fifth position relevé. My right foot automatically pulls back against my left for support, as if a delicate thread holds them together. My arch rests against the top of my foot as my feet slide down against the bottom of my shoes and the stiffness of my shoes cuts into my foot.

  I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

  The rest of the class is filled with more barre exercises and floor routines. We battement, grand jeté, frappé, and pirouette until we can barely move. Miss Laney calls the end of practice as the sun falls behind the building across from the studio. The absence of natural light makes it seem later than early afternoon.

  Sweat drips down my back. My face has taken on the lovely hue of being out in the sun all day. My feet are on fire, a sure sign that the blisters that have formed over the day have also popped. Every muscle in my body feels stretched beyond its capacity.

  It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had.

  “All right, ladies. That’s it for today. Thanks for a great class. Miss Catherine would like to see you all in the main studio for partner assignments in fifteen minutes.” Miss Laney smiles and walks out of the room.

  “I guess it’s time.” Brielle shoves her shoes into her bag and stands beside me. “Let’s go.”

  She heads out of the studio, but I hang back. I have to talk to Miss Catherine, convince her to let me have Adam as a partner. I won’t survive with anyone else, especially not Luke.

  If I don’t speak up, I’ll be stuck with someone I can’t stand.

  It’s now or never. After today, I have no chance of getting Adam as a partner. I find her office and knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Opening the door, I step inside. Dance posters line the walls of Miss Catherine’s office, all featuring her as the subject. I take a few steps forward. She looks busy.

  “Sadie, what can I do for you this afternoon?” She sits at her computer, typing something furiously on her keyboard.

  I press my fingernails into the palm of my hand. It’s not that hard. I can do this. If I want to survive here, if I don’t want my plans to fizzle out and die, I have to do this. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

  She frowns. “I don’t make a habit of meeting with my students without prior arrangements. I’m very busy, but I have a few minutes open right now. Have a seat,” she says, pointing at the chair in front of her desk.

  I manage a smile and sit down in the chair.

  “What’s on your mind?” Her eyes are hard. She’d rather be working on whatever it was she was doing instead of talking to me.

  My words come out in a rush, not at all like I practiced in my head in the hallway. “I know we’re getting partners today. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

  She glances up at me quickly before focusing back on her computer. “You’ve danced with a partner before. You have nothing to worry about.”

  I play with an invisible spot on my tights. I want to tell her what my concern is, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about my life. She doesn’t care about people leaving, about my trust issues, about my injury. It will only add to her doubt of my abilities.

  “I haven’t partnered in a really long time and I just think it would be better if I could partner with someone I’m starting to get comfortable with. Like Adam.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you asking me if you can partner with Adam?”

  I take a deep breath, unsure I should even answer her question. Her tone scares me and I don’t want to dig myself in any deeper than I already have.

  She folds her hands on the desk in front of her and continues without my answer. “I told you the first day of class we don’t give breaks. If I allow you to partner with the person of your choice, I have to allow that same consideration to every other student in this program, and I can’t do that. Even if I could, the partners have already been chosen. This doesn’t just affect you. It affects every other student here.”

  I look down at my hands in my lap, unable to look her in t
he eye any longer. This was a huge mistake. “I understand.”

  “Do you? Because it doesn’t look good on your part, asking for special treatment in the second week of class. Keep in mind we don’t just look at technique and abilities in a dancer when we’re considering someone for London. We consider the dancer as a whole, including how agreeable they are.” Her eyes flick to her computer for a couple of seconds.

  My cheeks burn. I want to be as far away from here as possible. What even made me think this would work in the first place? This conversation will spread like wildfire to all the teachers and no one will want to work with me anymore. I’ve just turned into the high maintenance, needy dancer. Awesome.

  She doesn’t bother to look at me anymore, focused instead on a piece of paper lying on her desk. “If that’s all, you can go. You can’t afford to be late for class right now.”

  I walk out of her office. I never should have talked to her in the first place. Such a stupid mistake.

  Brielle catches me in the hallway. “Did you just talk to Miss Catherine? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I keep walking.

  “Is there ever anything you do want to talk about?” She crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s expecting me to spill my guts for her now.

  I glare at her. “Sometimes.”

  “Sadie?”

  I turn at the sound of my name. Owen, a guy in my dance history class, jogs up beside us.

  “Hey, how are you?”

  I smile. “Good.”

  I don’t know him that well. It’s weird that he’s making an effort to come talk to me outside of class.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner this weekend.”

  My smile falls. The Hit List hasn’t even been around that long and I’m already sick of it.

  He looks nervous. “I’m not part of that game, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Brielle laughs beside me. “Does that actually work?”

  He looks offended. Maybe he really isn’t part of it. He could just actually want to date me.

  “She’s not interested.” Brielle pulls me toward the studio.

  Owen doesn’t say anything back. He shuffles back down the hallway the way he came.

  I watch him walk away, but wait until he’s out of earshot to say anything. “That was mean. He might not really be playing.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you want to go out with him?”

  “No.” I don’t want to go out with anyone.

  “Okay, then.”

  Brielle turns into the studio we’re in next. I follow her and sit down on the floor to stretch to keep my muscles warm.

  This is it—the partnership that can make or break me. The odds that it’ll be the latter are too high for me to think about.

  Luke sits behind me, but he faces away from me, completely absorbed by his cell phone, like he didn’t just pin me to a wall. Rachel tries to get his attention by telling an animated story about her bikini mishap on vacation, but she’s failing miserably. His eyes remain glued to his phone. Courtney sits on the other side of the room, equally enthralled with her phone. They seem to be playing a suspicious game of phone tag.

  I can only assume that he’s flirting again. I’ve never seen someone flirt as much as him in my entire life. And he seems not to care that everyone he flirts with constantly sees him with someone else.

  I mean, really. It’s not like we don’t have standards.

  Miss Catherine talks with another teacher near the front of the room. They look casual, like they’re not about to ruin my life.

  “I have the partner assignments I know you’re all eagerly waiting for.” Her eyes find mine, but I look away.

  If I’d stayed in New York, none of this would be happening right now. I wouldn’t feel so defeated. New York may not hold the fresh start I wanted, but right now, L. A. doesn’t either. Maybe there’s still an option to transfer somewhere.

  It’s easier to run than it is to deal with all this shit. That’s what my life has become. Running from one problem to the next.

  “Sadie.”

  My head pops up when I hear my name and I hold my breath.

  “Your partner is—” She glances down at her clipboard before her eyes flick back up to mine.

  It’s possible I won’t be completely screwed by this whole thing. Maybe Adam was already chosen as my partner.

  Please be Adam. Please be Adam. Please be Adam.

  “Luke,” she says, smiling.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  THE HIT LIST UPDATE

  September 10

  Welcome to the first point update posting of The Hit List. Each of our guys has been assigned a number for the time being. If our girls knew which guys were participating, the game wouldn’t be any fun.

  #4 3 points

  #10 2 points

  #2 2 points

  #6 1 point

  #9 1 point

  #3 1 point

  #12 ——

  #11 ——

  #7 ——

  #1 ——

  #5 ——

  #8 ——

  As far as the girls go, here are their weekly numbers. There has been a ton of voting activity in the polls this week, but here are the standings as of right now. Whatever position a bonus girl is in when a Hitter scores points for her determines the amount of points that Hitter will receive. So if someone claims Rachel while she’s on top, they’ll receive the max of fifteen points.

  Rachel Barrons 23%

  Brielle Watkins 19%

  Sadie Bryant 15%

  Jessie Freeman 11%

  Rebecca Hemsworth 8%

  Noelle Sanstrohm 6%

  Ashlynn Jenkins 5%

  Courtney Turner 5%

  Samantha Jameson 5%

  Kate Williams 3%

  Remember to keep voting to change up the positions of our girls and how many points they’re worth. Come back next week to find out who has taken the lead, how many points the guys have racked up, and which girls have fallen.

  In the meantime, happy hitting!

  ~THE HIT MAN

  5

  The studio I’m using to practice with Luke is right down the hallway. Rachel and her friends sit in the windowsill outside the studio. She holds the latest issue of Jeté Magazine in her hands. I keep my head down, hoping I can disappear around the corner without them seeing me.

  But I don’t have that kind of luck.

  “‘Neither has danced without the other for two years. One wonders what kind of effect this separation will have on their dancing.’” She makes direct eye contact with me as she finishes quoting the article. Her brown eyes burn with dislike for me. I’d like to think it’s jealousy, but I think it’s just her.

  I keep walking, not giving her the satisfaction of a response. She won’t continue if I don’t encourage her.

  It’s clear that our separation has only benefited Patrick. The only thing it’s gotten me so far is a lot of unwanted attention.

  Rachel kicks her feet against the wall below the windowsill. One of her friends jumps down and steps out in front of me. I sidestep so I don’t run right into her. She follows me down the hallway as I walk.

  “From what I’ve seen, she was the weak link in that partnership. I mean, look how well he’s doing. He was lucky to get out when he did.” Rachel shoves the magazine at one of the other girls.

  She’s right. I was the weak partner. But I’m determined not to let that happen here. I have to make this partnership work.

  “Don’t you have something to say, Sadie?” She smiles and the rest of the group turn to watch me.

  I stop and close my eyes as I take a deep breath. There are so many things I want to say to Rachel, so many things that would wipe that fucking smile right off her face. I don’t want to stoop to her level, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.”

  She grins like
she knows a secret. “I know no one wants you. Not Patrick and especially not Luke.”

  She thinks it’s an insult, but she doesn’t know that I don’t want them either. Patrick can go to hell and she can keep Luke. She doesn’t even know the whole story. All she knows is something she read in a magazine. How would she feel if she were left at her most vulnerable time by the partner she loved more than anything else in the world?

  “Why do you even care so much?” There are so many other things she could be focused on right now. Like Fall Showcase. Or her name being on The Hit List.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Stay away from Luke.”

  “Maybe you should tell him to stay away from me. It’s not like I put my name on that stupid list.” I’m starting to see why Brielle hates Rachel so much.

  “Maybe someone put you on that list for a reason.” She stares intensely at me for a couple seconds before she shrugs and smiles. Her playful attitude returns to her face, like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Or maybe they did it as a joke, because who would seriously work that hard to sleep with you?”

  My hands clench into fists at my side, my nails digging into my palm. Patrick didn’t want to keep working with me so he left. Luke is persistent right now, but he’ll get sick of the game quickly. Rachel’s right. No one wants to work that hard.

  And I don’t want them to. I don’t want any of that. I don’t want a boyfriend or a friend with benefits or some other unspecified relationship. I don’t want to be part of this game.

  I round the corner to the sound of Rachel’s laughter. I need to focus on the task ahead of me. As much as I don’t want to think about partnering with Luke, I want to think about Patrick even less.

  A boy stands beside a girl farther down the hallway. He touches her face and she smiles. “You deserve so much better than him.”

  They look cute together.

  Until another very angry student interrupts the moment by punching the first guy in the face. “Are you fucking kidding me, Justin? Did you seriously just try to cock-block me?”

  Justin lies on the ground, rubbing his jaw where a brightly colored bruise has already started to form behind the cut that drips blood down his chin.